


Danger at Every Turn

by Artasaweapon



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: One-Shot, Racing, The Crash Track, Violence, haha im dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:09:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21939502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artasaweapon/pseuds/Artasaweapon
Summary: Based off a post from DiscoCritic on tumblr, found by the same name on both Ao3 and tumblrParty Poison hated watching his brother race. Every time Kobra took off down the track, Party was a ball of anxiety, until Kobra had come back and crossed the finish line. Then there was a single race, when Kobra didn't go back at all.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	Danger at Every Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Again, based off DiscoCritics post on tumblr, link is https://discocritic.tumblr.com/post/188189734143/party-poison-doesnt-like-it-when-kobra-races I also based it off go-kart riding don't judge me

“Party, the race is gonna start and we don’t have much time!”

Of course. Of the seven word quota Kobra spoke per day, it had to be complaining that Party was taking too long. “Phoenix Witch, Kobes, cool your jets.” Secretly, Party wished his brother would stop racing. He loved the fact that Kobra found something he loved, but it was so damn dangerous, and their lives were already filled with enough of that.

But Party walked out the door with him again and again.

And again today, to Kobra’s insistent hand waving and gesturing to the Trans Am. “Any longer and I woulda left without you, asshole. Ghoul’s already at the Track, Jet’s... somewhere. He’s with the Kid.”

Even more words. Weird day.

Luckily, the two of them weren’t all that far from the Crash Track, only an hour or so, and they got there and hour before the race started.

“You’re paranoid, Kobes. You have all the time in the world.” Party grinned as he stepped out of the car

Kobra pulled off his helmet and glanced down. “Phoenix Witch, Party, I wanted to hang out with Sand.” Kobra said grudgingly.

“Ya shoulda said so.” Party winked. “You know where I’ll be.”

Kobra grunted and turned away. He took his bike down to the track, into his stall he claimed for himself, when he first became a Motorbaby. Surprisingly, you didn’t have to worry much about sabotage, unless some really nasty asshole was racing that day, which Kobra had checked the roster, and that was a hard no.  
“Bettin’ on ya!” a ‘Joy called out, and Kobra half waved in response.

Betting wasn’t really betting. You bet the amount of carbons you wanted. Half went between the people around you, like normal betting, half went to the racers, which was how they made their carbons. On one hand it was great, the better you got, the more people were willing to bet on you. The downside was a single bad race, a single crash could throw you back to the bottom, and you had to pay back a quarter of what everyone bet on you. When you’re good, a quarter is a lot of carbons.  
“Kobra!” Sand waved him over to where a group of racers were standing in a circle, holding coveted cans of Monster, and chatting about the race to come.  
“Hi Sand.” Kobra said quietly.

“Damn. I have got a feeling in my bones, this race is going to be a good race.” Sandman grinned, and leaned against the wall.

Kobra nodded, even though he was only half feeling it. He was excited to race, of course, but Party never had the greatest attitude toward his racing. Maybe he was right. Wouldn’t stop Kobra.

“Hey y’all Motorbabies, we got five minutes til race time so get your asses on the track and get ready to eat shit!” Some Race Runner was yelling up and down the lounges.

Kobra smiled wanly, and walked back to his stall, checking his bike for problems. Trust, but verify.  
Slowly, he made his way to the starting line, and pulled on his helmet.

The hum of his bike settled him, and the anxiety he felt about the race turned into excited apprehension.  
“Three!” Kobra tightened his grip on his handles. “Two!” He licked his lips and tensed. This was so familiar. He knew this. Understood it. Lived it. “One!” Kobra shot forward, throwing himself to the inside and causing four or five racers to skid and swerve. It was a dangerous move, and Kobra was oh-so good at it. It made him giddy, the feeling of racing against other people. He loved racing, even against Sandman. And he loved racing with Sandman.

Speaking of the Motorbaby, Sand pulled up just behind him, having just cut off another racer, who had barely recovered from her skidding swerve enough to stay upright.

Kobra grinned, and poured on speed, pulling ahead of Sand and the others. This race was almost ten miles long, and would take almost five minutes. Kobra glanced around in a half-second, relishing the blurred gold and brown of the Crash Track.

There was a roaring behind him, a massive jolt threw him off balance, and he was flying.

Everything happened slowly, and he heard Sand yell “are you fucking suicidal!?” And when he noticed what was happening, his scream of Kobra’s name, carried away by the wind. Then he hit the ground, and his bike landed on one of his legs, and searing pain burned into his whole body. After a moment, Kobra tried and failed at pushing the bike off him, only succeeding in moving it further down his leg as he tried to stand. He dropped back into the sand, and the last thing he remembered was that thought he had, right before the race. “What if Party’s right?”

Party watched as the first bike crossed the finish line. First Sandman, to a round of enthusiastic cheers and shouts. The someone he recognized, but didn’t know the name of.

Ghoul voiced his thoughts. “Where’s Kobra?”

“Maybe something happened with his bike and he’s coming soon.” Party said, his voice shaking. But the race ended, and there was still no Kobra. Sandman sprinted up to Party, face worried.

“No.” Party said. “No no no.”

Sand looked at him with an apologetic expression. “It’s Kobra. Some dumb fuck tried to get past him an’ me an’ flipped him off the track. I woulda stopped but if I tried Ida ended up right next to him.”

Party’s breath caught in his throat and Ghoul saw him pale.

“Where?” Party’s voice cracked.

“Roundabouts mile three.”

“Whose the asshole?” Ghoul asked, but Party was already gone. Party shoved past the race runners, who tried to stop him from running onto the track, and he punched one out before the other backed off.

The breath in his chest was burning by mile two, and the third mile passed far too slowly for his liking.

Finally he saw a mangled bike, and someone lying underneath it. Party sprinted the last twenty feet, and made sure Kobra wasn’t caught in the bike before shoving it away. “Hey,” he said softly, choking on a salty lump in his throat. Three people came up to him, slowly, as if worried by what he’d do.

“As soon as Sandman reported what happened we got down here and tried to help him. We left him there cause we didn’t wanna hurt him further.”

Party heard them, but didn’t acknowledge their existence. “C’mon, Kobra.” He muttered. Party didn’t shake him, scared it would hurt him. “C’mon, Kobes, I told you this was a bad idea!” Party shouted. That wasn’t true, Party had never told him that about something he loved so much. “I told you, and now look at us! Kobra, wake up! Wake up, goddammit!” He was practically screaming now, his voice hoarse, and the people around him unsure of what to do. Party looked up angrily. “Radio!” he snapped.

Someone put a radio in his hand, and he tuned into Ghoul’s frequency, one of the only people he knew that carried a personal radio, something he and the Missile had been working on.

“What do you want.” Ghoul’s voice answered.

“I-I need Jet down here. Right now. Keep Missile with Sand or someone up there, she shouldn’t see—“ Party broke off.

“You got it, Crash Queen.”

“We have medics.”

“Then get them down here!” Party snapped. Kobra looked like he shouldn’t have survived the crash, with his arms twisted at horrifying angles, one of his wrists swollen black and blue. One of his jeans legs was burned away from the heat of his motorcycle, and the skin was red and shiny from the burn. It looked like his bike cut him across the chest, and there was blood blooming on his shirt. “Please wake up, Kobra. Please, please.” After a moment, Party shook his head. “This is taking to long.” Party moved to pick up Kobra, ready to take him back to the starting line.

“You shouldn’t do that, you could hurt him further!” Someone protested, but Party shrugged them off.

“If I don’t, he’ll die from heat stroke, so shut up.”

Kobra was heavy, and about an inch taller than Party, so carrying him was a bit awkward. “C’mon Kobra, just a little further.” Kobra’s blood smeared on Party’s jacket, contrasting violently with the blue leather. Party heard him take a shuddering breath, the deepest one so far, and he relaxed, just slightly.

It took him and hour to get back, with Kobra’s added weight, and the three Race Runners following him up the track, offering to take his weight for a bit. Party snapped a no at them each time.

“Kobra!” Party heard Sandman yell across the lounges. Ghoul ran up with him, with noticeably bloody knuckles. “Please tell me he’s alright.” Sand said.

“Where’s Jet.” Party said shortly.

Ghoul jerked his head behind him, and Jet ran up. “Missile’s hanging with a couple other kids who came to watch the race... Ghoul, you didn’t tell me it was Kobra.” Jet’s voice shook. “Put him down.” After a second, he continued. “He broke his wrist, and a couple ribs, and his leg’s burned real bad. When he wakes up he’s gonna have a nasty concussion, and’ll be out of it for a while, but he’ll survive, thank the Witch.”

Kobra groaned and slowly blinked his eyes open, glassily staring at the four ‘Joys crowded around him.

“Wha’ ha’end?” Kobra slurred quietly. Party turned away as Sand started explaining.

Party’s torn mind churned over a paradox. On one hand, if this happened again, and Party wasn’t there, what would happen to Kobra? On the other, Party wasn’t sure he wanted to know until it was over, one way or another.

One thing he knew for sure was he never wanted to be at this track again.


End file.
